**Proposal To Build Then Fill An Amphitheater**

Been thinking about the volume of something, not as the amount of stuff it can hold, but as a measure of how big something else needs to be to hold it.The amphitheater takes up 306.9 billion gallons of space.

A solid lump of yellow metal cannot contain anything, but it has a colorful volume. Spread the sheets from a yellow ream of paper out, one deep, over the city floor. Remaining is a highlighted area, and hardly and height. Material too flat to cuddle does not always produce a minimal volume.

The proposed amphitheater is 825' long by 648' wide by 157' high. In this room, where the doorframe entrance you walked through is too narrow to allow for the model but tall enough to fit Gabriel Mann's melody, 650.75 gallons of plaster filled the model to the rim. Two halves of the model pass through the doorframe. The stack.

Set apart, the elliptical cylinders measure half the height and double the area, leaving the volume intact and rendering entry possible. Assuming I poured into the suggested amphitheater the same amount of plaster that occupies the model, and replenished once every minute, I could deposit 39,350 gallons in 1 hour.

The motion is methodical. Pours accept air while falling deep into the amphitheater, becoming stale, as they pile onto established clumps of plaster gestures. At this rate, it would take 7,860,570.83 hours or 897.32 years to complete the proposal. Others would find it unfinished long after I have departed. But with the help of 10.000 friends, each pouring one model/min or 390,350 gallons an hour, we could conclude in 32.8 days. Pours, driven and dumped by the thrust of my friend's biceps, shrink the task by factors, and increase the speed by more than a factor of 2.

Every time we shrink the task of one, we more than gain in area what we give up in individual responsibility and height. We crank up the volume, and lay it just left of somewhere deep inside a cup of ambition. Font: Giddyup STD.